


The Tea Makes Itself

by HumsHappily



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Crossover, M/M, Potterlock, john was an auror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was an auror who left the wizarding world after the fall of Voldemort (the second fall) and is catching up with Minerva McGonagall, an old friend/mother figure. A little bit of Johnlock angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Completely Impossible

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  \- This fiction melds the years a bit to make sense. The Potter and Weasley kids are approx. four years older than in the books, and John is ~10 years older than Harry Potter as he was a auror during the Second Wizarding War.  
> -Mrs. Hudson is a squib.  
> -Hasn't been beta-ed so please let me know of anything that is incorrect.

John Watson settled down into the plush chair of Headmaster Minerva McGonagall’s office. The clock ticking above him as he waited was nearly drowned out by the hushed murmurings of the portraits around him. He looked around for Dumbledore, who was an old friend from his days at Hogwarts and then his time in The Order. Albus had always known how to bring a smile to his face and if he hadn’t been so much older-- well. Sherlock reminded him a bit of Albus. He had always been attracted to people on the edge of madness, the broken people trying so desperately to be whole. He finally spotted Dumbledore sitting up in a high corner portrait, talking to Snape. Why they weren’t talking in their own frames, well who knew. Portraits could be so finicky.

As McGonagall entered the office, John stood up and gave her a hug. She had been like a mother to him after his mother had died in the first wizard war. John had always wondered why she never had children of her own, though she had been married. He had asked once, of course. The sad smile he got in return, had insured he never asked again.

“Mr.Watson!” McGonagall beamed “So good to see you!”

“Hello Professor. Have you heard the news?” John replied.

“Yes, I have and honestly I’m a bit shocked you’ve started dating a muggle. Not only that but solving crimes with him.” stated McGonagall, bluntly.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” John blurted out, as he caught Dumbledore’s portrait winking at him.

“Sorry dear. You know, I don’t mind though. I mean Albus and I always used to talk about—“ McGonagall cut herself off, smiling. “Well you don’t want to hear about that anyway. So, tell me about this Sherlock fellow. ”

“Well, he is a bit mad, really. Always dashing about, excited to play ‘the game’.”

“The game, John? What on earth does that mean?” asked McGonagall, amused at the way John’s eyes lit up when he spoke about Sherlock.

“Any crimes he finds interesting. He gets so worked up about them. He even has a mind palace, where he stocks away facts and observations. Has the whole of London’s streets memorized. He is so terribly observant with most things, yet so distant from the real world. Brilliant though, truly brilliant.”

“Ah. A Ravenclaw type is he?” asked McGonagall, laughing as she summoned up tea with the wave of her wand.

“Reminds me of Albus a little, to be honest.” John laughed in agreement, as he took his cup of tea.

“But John,” asked McGonagall, with a serious look coming across her face. “Aren’t you worried he’ll find out about the scar? What you truly are?”

“Not really. The scar is from a bullet from the muggle war in Afghanistan as far as Sherlock knows. He still hasn’t noticed the tea makes itself in the morning, or that the windows never smudge. Not the best about observing household details. If he does notice, he just thinks Mrs. Hudson has been in.”

“Aha! How is Mrs.Hudson?” asked McGonagall

“Fine, considering! Always after me to patch up the holes Sherlock has shot in the wall. I’ll tell her you said hello, yeah?”

“Please do,” said McGonagall, “I really worry though, John. Can a man with a history like yours find a place in the muggle world?” Leaning forward in her seat, McGonagall took John’s hand in hers. “I don’t say these things to hurt you, John. I know that being an auror had drawbacks. I know you were hurt. I know that you wanted to escape from the memory of what we had to fight against. But can you truly forget your time in our world to go to theirs?”

John Watson thought about his new life, far away from the wizarding world, solving insane crimes with an insanely talented muggle. A muggle whose personality shone bright enough to drown out the memories that haunted him at night, who he was terrified to lose, a muggle whom he was just as terrified to love. A man with cheekbones that could cut glass, and a smile that radiated so fiercely, John thought of it every waking moment.

“I don’t know, Minerva. I can’t know unless I try.”

“As long as you are happy John, then I am happy for you.”

 

The pair continued to chat as the light in the office grew dim. John told McGonagall all about Moriarty and Mycroft. McGonagall told him a few secrets about Mycroft she had apparently learned during her visits to the Queen in her feline form. John made a mental note to drop hints to Sherlock about his brothers’ fascination with Big Ben. He heard all about Potter and the Weasleys, Hermione included. Apparently, their children had come to Hogwarts and were wreaking havoc just as their parents had. Albus Severus Potter was a rising star in potions. James Potter was the star quidditch player. Lily-Luna Potter and Hugo Weasley were more often than not seen wandering around the castle, chatting with the ghosts. All the families were happy. John watched as McGonagall’s eyes lit up, while she spoke of all her students past and present. Apparently, Neville Longbottom had met the new professor of Divination, who just as clumsy as he was and was very happily teaching alongside her as a married couple.

The clock, newly installed in the North Tower, chimed eleven and startled both John and McGonagall out of their comfortable positions.  
“I have to get back, professor,” John said as he stood and stretched “Sherlock’ll be expecting me.”  
“Very well dear.” replied McGonagall, setting aside her teacup “Before you go I have to ask something I never have before. Why do you insist on calling me professor, when I never had you in my classes?”  
John smiled and looked down at her. “You –and Albus—taught me more about love and family than my own mother had time to. I just didn’t think you would appreciate me calling you mummy all these years.”

“Go home to your muggle, silly boy. He’ll be missing you.” McGonagall said laughing.

Only after John had left and was walking across the grounds, toward the gate did McGonagall allow herself to stand and look out the window after him. As he walked away, McGonagall murmured after him.

“I would never have minded if you thought enough of me to call me mother.” 

The portraits in the office nodded their heads, murmuring in agreement. 

**

 

“Sherlock!” John called out as he entered the flat “Are you home?”

“Of course, John. I’ve been home all day, just like you,” came a reply from behind the microscope on the kitchen table.

“I’ve been gone all day, Sherlock. How do you not notice I’m gone?” John asked.

“I don’t know, John. Many things happen I don’t bother taking notice of, they’re not important enough. Sometimes it seems the tea just makes itself,” scoffed Sherlock.

 

“But that would be entirely illogical wouldn’t it?” John smiled knowingly. “Completely impossible, Sherlock.”


	2. Bowtie Body

Molly Hooper was by no means a stupid woman. With an IQ of around 135, she was considered gifted by many and put her gifts to use as a very successful pathologist. However, years of working at the morgue in St. Bart's had shown her that not everything was explainable by science. She was well aware that the world held more than one mystery.

So when a body showed up in her morgue with no indication of how it had died, whom it was, or how exactly said body managed to have had their intestines tied in a perfect bow, she called the two people who could be trusted to deal with the issue quickly and with minimal fuss.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson arrived at the morgue in record time.

“Morning, Molly.” John waved as Sherlock breezed past.

“Hi, John" Molly replied, "He’s excited then.”

"I honestly can't thank you enough for calling us. He was starting to shoot the walls again, and Mrs. Hudson —" John broke off looking behind Molly to the body.

"John?" Molly queried following his gaze.

"I know him” John said his jaw set.

“How?” Molly queried. “What is his name? Can you legally identify him?”

“He's my-was my- friend from back at school. Really great guy. We were very—“  
John paused here for a minute, hand clenching at his side. “Close” He finished, looking stressed and just slightly guilty.

Molly wasn't stupid. A glance at John’s rapidly tightening hand showed that John and this man had been more than casual school friends. She also knew that it would be a cold day in hell before John would willingly give up secrets about past relationships. Especially if the secret might have an effect on how Sherlock viewed John.

"When Sherlock stops sniffing him, let him know I can identify the body. I have to make a few calls." John said stiffly, pulling his phone out and leaving the morgue.

John waited until he had turned the corner and then practically raced out of the hospital. He pushed the double doors open and began to jog as fast as he could to the secluded garden around the corner. Not many people knew it existed, which made it a perfect spot to make the 'call' he needed too. As he had hoped a small cat with markings around her eyes that looked surprisingly like spectacles was waiting.

"Thank Merlin you're here,” John breathed out as he slumped to the ground. "I was hoping you knew. I didn't think I could-- I didn't want to-- I can’t--" John cut off his stammering with a groan.  
“Please tell me it wasn't one of ours that did this. That it was a muggle instead?”

The tortoiseshell looked up and blinked at him.

"Shite, shite, shite.”

His swearing earned John a slap in the face with a tail.

"Sorry. It's just-" John cut himself off again, looking at the cat nervously. “Well, I suppose you knew about us didn't you? You and Dumbledore shared everything and he knew.”

The tortoiseshell blinked again and came forward to slide against John's arm comfortingly.

"I've moved on. It was years ago, a lifetime ago, but we did love each other. Schoolboy romance,” John said quietly, “You know how it is. ’Enemy' houses, Quidditch rivals turned friends turned…well, lovers.”

“Oh, God" John said putting his hands in his head. “Sherlock. I need this case but how am I going to keep it from him?"

The cat looked down and scratched something into the dirt.

“Dispensation? No. No way." John said. "Those are only for spouses and other family members."

The cat sat down and serenely licked her paw.

"You're getting a kick out of this aren't you? Have you been visiting with Mrs. Hudson again?”

Two blinks indicating a healthy appreciation for John’s rather obviously repressed feelings for Sherlock were the only answer John needed, and the only he got from the smug feline.

"Fine. I'm going back in. Talk to the ministry for me. They'll listen to you. Hopefully. We are taking the case whether they like it or not. They will not interfere or I will show up at the ministry headquarters a very, very angry man."

The tortoiseshell rubbed her head against his knees and disappeared into the rose bushes

John sighed, standing up and brushing the dust off his trousers.

**

As John was experiencing a near existential crisis, Sherlock and Molly were having a blowout in the morgue.

"I don't know, Sherlock! I've told you everything!” Molly snarled.

"How Molly? How is this possible? Just look at the cuff on his trousers! And he smells like lemon polish! There isn't any logic!" Sherlock tossed back, irritated.

"How is that more important then the fact that there was no cut mark on the body before I got him?"

John very nearly rolled his eyes as he walked in, until he remembered how much of a problem this case was going to cause.

"Sherlock" John sighed, attempting to interrupt a rant about the coordination between scented floor polish and the economic status of the user.

As Sherlock continued to ignore him in favor of berating Molly, John got a bit impatient.  
“Sherlock! Enough!” he snapped

Both Molly and Sherlock looked over at him. John never yelled that forcefully unless there was something seriously stressing him.

"John?" asked Molly questioningly, as Sherlock's eyes flitted rapidly over every inch of John to identify what could be wrong.

"We are going home. We will be taking this case. I have left the papers concerning his identity in your office Molly. We will be back tomorrow,” John spoke in clipped sentences, already half dragging Sherlock out the door.

“John!” yelled Molly as they pushed open the doors. “I haven’t told—“

The last bit of Molly’s reply was cut off as the doors slammed behind the consulting detective and his blogger.


	3. A Visitor...

Once they were outside the hospital, Sherlock flagged down a taxi and the pair rode in silence to the flat, both staring out their respective windows.  
When they got home, John went into his bedroom and slammed the door. Sherlock was rather perplexed. John did not behave in this way. John did not drag him forcibly from the lab, slam doors, act distant, and yell unless Sherlock was shooting the walls. Sherlock went to stand by the window, picking up his violin on the way. Playing perhaps would clear his mind, and allow him to deduce what was wrong with his John.

Upstairs, Sherlock's John was pacing back and forth. His mind was filled with thoughts on how to keep Sherlock away from the wizarding world. He knew, of course, that taking this case would ensure that Sherlock would learn that John had lied. John had lied and gotten away with the lies, because a power higher than Mycroft had given him a new life.

A new life. Life that was supposed to be far away from the wizarding world. Not have the wizard world step in and slap him upside the head for dreaming he might one day be happy with a non-magical life.

John scowled and threw himself onto his bed.

The last time he had seen Cal O'Brien he had been in Dublin's wizarding sector, taking a well deserved vacation. This was before he had left the wizarding world, and moved to London. He was sitting outside his favourite haunt, Dirty Doyle's Den, a bar known for attracting the magicked from all walks of life.

**

"John?" A voice came from behind him, tinged with a distinctly Irish lilt. "John Watson?"  
Folding the newspaper he had been reading, John had looked up, frowning a bit at being disturbed.

Immediately though, his face had brightened, when happy school memories came flooding back. Cal O'Brien, red haired and freckly, was standing before him. Green eyes dancing, the man looked like the poster child for all Irish stereotyping.

"Cal!" John had exclaimed, standing and giving his old friend a tight hug.

"Thought that was you mate! Fancy getting a pint and catching up? I'm finished wit’ work anyway. It's been ages,” Cal had said returning the hug.

John acquiescing, the two had walked into Doyle's and spoke for hours. Cal had graduated Hogwarts and gone into animal care. He ran a small pet shop that specialized in exotic breeds of toad and owls. Business had been booming and Cal was selling out soon to become a breeder. John had told Cal about his involvement in the war, getting injured. Both chuckled about the idea of John moving to London. They swapped gossip about all their old buddies and laughed like they were back in the days when Treacle tart had a habit of 'turning up' on dormitory pillows if someone missed curfew.

“Now, John" asked Cal, after a few hours had passed, "tell me true. Have you met anyone that can fill the void left by little ol' me?"

John laughed and took another swig of his pint, the honey liquid sparkling green as he set the glass back down. ”I’ll be honest, Cal, I haven't had time. With work, then the war, getting injured, my personal life is a bit of a mess."

"Hell" John said continuing, "I've only come to Dublin because my rehab finished, and I wanted a quick break."

"Ahh well you deserve it so,” Cal said smiling.

John nodded to that and grinned back. ”What about you Cal? Found anyone darling enough to fill my place?" John teased.  
The dreamy look that popped into Cal's eye told John that this was indeed the case.  
"He came into my shop about a year ago. He was after a Pygmy Persimmon. The very second he smiled I fell in love, John! The very second!”

John laughed. "Oho, replace me with tall, dark, and handsome won't you?"  
Cal had grinned in reply.

"Well dark and handsome, yes. Dreamy blue eyes as well. But certainly not tall. He works for the Irish ministry as the leprechaun liaison. Really popular among the little people, for obvious reasons He's actually on his way to the quarter to do some shopping. Will you stick around to meet him?"

John had agreed, content to loaf around and chat for a bit longer. When a pint sized man with dark black hair and blue eyes that laughed showed up to claim Cal, the boys had called it a night. Promising to keep in touch, they went their separate ways.

They had kept in touch for long while. Cal gave up the pet shop, moved to Kilkenny with Colin and the pair got married in April two years after. John had kept Cal up on all his latest news. The correspondence petered out when John left his ministry position, and actually did move to London.

But now John's past was rapidly catching up with him.

**

John was snatched out of his reverie by a sharp tapping at the window. He sat up to see a small grey owl, knocking its beak on the glass.

Hopping up to let the owl in, John opened the letter it had carried.

 

John,

The ministry has agreed to let you introduce Sherlock to the wizarding world. The board has apparently heard of his consulting exploits and plans to allow you to handle this case. However, I may have stretched the truth a little when it came to how close your relationship is. This shouldn't be an issue as long as you play your parts well when the inspector comes round.  
Good luck dear!  
~Professor M. McGonagall.

“Shite," muttered John as he ran his hands through his hair. "I'm going to have to speak to Sherlock."

**

Downstairs, Sherlock had given up playing the violin and was reclining on the couch. As he heard John slowly trod down the stairs, Sherlock swung himself up to a sitting position.  
His eyes followed John as he went into the kitchen. The banging of mugs indicated that John was making tea. Prior experience had taught Sherlock that John made tea before embarking on stressful conversations, most often involving himself. The body language John was exhibiting indicated worry, stress, but the tilt of his head indicated something strange. Almost like relief, mixed with resolve.

Sherlock was prepared for a long lecture on proper social cues and behavior, despite not knowing what the lecture was caused by.

John finished the tea and walked into the sitting room. He set a mug down in front of Sherlock and settled into his chair.

Sherlock could see that John was brooding over something. "For Gods sake, John get it over with!” he finally snapped, throwing himself flat onto the couch. John glanced up from his mug, looking for all the world like a puppy that had been kicked.

"What?" John asked “Sherlock, I'm not going to lecture you.”

“Yes, you are. You're walking around like a spring about to uncoil. Just do it already!" Sherlock hissed.

"Dammit Sherlock! I'm not always going to yell at you! Believe it or not the world-my world-doesn't revolve around you--" John cut himself off, fuming. This wasn't going as planned. God, he would choose fall in love with a man who was _so_ in love with himself that he wouldn't accept that something could possibly have nothing to do with him.

Sherlock was puzzled. He wanted John to yell at him so he could store what he had done wrong, make sure he didn’t do it again. John seemed to be eliciting confusion more and more often. Is this why Mycroft insisted that sentiment was responsible for clouding judgement? Could it be that this sentiment- these feelings- that was developing was responsible for the chaos of his mind palace?

"John?" Sherlock said quietly, slightly guilty. "I apologize for snapping. I only wished to give you a reason to yell without feeling guilty for lecturing me. I see I have miscalculated. I will retire to my bedroom and allow you to overcome your troubles alone. I only wished to help."

As Sherlock went to get up, John moved over effectively blocking him.  
“No, Sherlock. I just...would you sit back down?"

Sherlock complied, although a bit hesitantly. John placed himself on the couch cushion beside him.  
“Sherlock, the reason I was so upset earlier is because I knew the victim. We went to school together. But that isn't all. I've been lying to you. I wasn't in Afghanistan. I wasn't in the army.” John hesitated and then sighed, leaning back. “There is no easy way to tell you this.There is a whole world you know nothing about. If I had my way you would never find out about it. There is so much deceit, deception, and hatred that I had to leave. But at the same time there is so much love, so much loyalty, so much wonder, that it kills me to keep it from you, because I know you would fit in there. Be amazed at it.”

John paused to evaluate how Sherlock was taking the news. The man in question was sitting frozen, eyes flitting back and forth. John could see the gears working in his head.

“Sherlock, there is no way to say what I want to say, no way to ease this blow. I can only hope that seeing yourself as a man of science, and believing that there is much in this world we cannot explain will help you understand why I've lied to you.”

John paused again, licking his lips. "Sherlock, magic is real. I’m…I’m a wizard. There is truth in the old tales.”

John looked in concern at Sherlock, who hadn't moved, hadn’t said a word, wasn’t even blinking. "Sherlock? Sherlock, please respond."

"How?" asked Sherlock finally, in a croaking voice.

“Well, we've hidden since the Middle Ages. It's very easy to cloak yourself, buildings. Magic itself has to do with bending of particles. I mean--"

Sherlock cut John off with a wave of his hand. "That is not what I wished to know. How did you manage to lie? Not to me. To Mycroft. He had you so thoroughly vetted."  
Sherlock began to laugh, almost hysterically, huge tears running down his face. "You hid, your whole life, from Mycroft. Oh this is brilliant! It’s Christmas!”

John had never seen this side of Sherlock. He hadn't even known it existed.

"You aren't mad? You aren't going to go into a sulk and stay in your mind palace, looking over your files to find what could have tipped you off, what you got wrong?" John asked bewildered.

“Yes, I am. But not right now. Not until you've had time to teach me everything. And I do mean everything, John,” Sherlock said, fixing John with a stare. "Right now there is a man coming up the stairs. I'm assuming he is the reason you've decided to ‘spill your guts’ as the colloquial term goes."

Sure enough, now that his attention had been drawn to it, John could hear Mrs. Hudson chatting with someone in the hallway below.

"Sherlock, listen, I will explain later, I will explain everything. But you must play along with me. This man is," John paused searching for the right word. “probably very influential in my world and he must approve of you or else you will forget this, all of this, all about me and I will be sent away. Will you do this for me Sherlock? Please?”

Sherlock swallowed. John was asking him for a favor. He wasn't telling him. Sherlock could walk away, but John knew he wouldn't. So why would John bother to ask?

Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to pop her head in the door.  
"John? Is it true?”

Looking up from where he was sitting, John smiled, though his facial expression was closer to a wince. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson."  
"Oh John, congratulations! I'm so happy for the two of you." Mrs. Hudson beamed. "I'll just let Sebastian up then.”

"Sebastian?" Sherlock asked John whose face paled at the mention of the name.

"Another time, Sherlock, " John muttered. “Later.”  
"John? Mrs. Hudson asked if something was true. What did she mean?”

"That's the other thing and I don't have time to explain. Sebastian showed up a lot faster than I expected them to.” John paused looking even more nervous."In order to get permission to tell you about this I had to lie and tell the ministry that we were together.”

In response, Sherlock blinked slowly, then nodded and pulled a protesting John into his lap, just as Sebastian Moran waltzed into the flat.


	4. The Home of Cal and Colin

The Home of Cal and Colin 

Kilkenny, Ireland

John Watson was seated on a vey comfortable couch. The only sounds in the warm house were the catching ticks of a broken clock and the clinking of cups from the kitchen. He could almost pretend they were visiting a old friend if it weren't for the atmosphere of shock and misery in the air. Sherlock was sitting, body tense, eyes flitting around gathering data. 

They hadn't spoken about Sebastian's interview since it had happened. Mentally groaning, John went back over the events of the previous day. 

Sherlock had pulled John into his lap right as Sebastian had walked into the flat. Embarrassed, John had tried to get up, but before he could, Sherlock's mouth was on his. A tongue was poking tantalizingly at his lips and John opened up without question, almost shocked into kissing back. The taste of Sherlock was ambrosia, milky tea and honeyed toast. There was a faint hint of mint overlaying the rest and John realized that he was nearly moaning into Sherlock's mouth. Then their lips broke apart and the pair split. Sherlock was smirking and he leaned in, snaking up to whisper in John's ear. 

"Do try and pretend you are enjoying this John. That man seems to be very interested in you and I'd like to know why. He doesn't seem to be very trustworthy. Seems as though you have a lot of secrets to tell me.”

Then Sherlock's hot breath left his ear and John was unceremoniously pushed to the other side of the couch.

That was where he stayed for the remainder of the time Moran was in their space. It didn't mean anything, John repeated to himself as they filled out paperwork. It was just Sherlock playing his games. The Sherlock from the moment on the couch was just another character the detective could slip into at a moments notice. They hadn't touched in any capacity since, let alone spoken about the incident, though John was chomping at the bit to discuss personal boundaries. 

Sherlock had questioned John the whole plane ride to Ireland and on the train from Dublin about magic, with John ending the conversation by promising a trip to Diagon Alley as soon as they were back in London. They hadn't even touched upon the subject of Cal and John's relationship, let alone Moran's twisted school day idolatry of John. There was a long train ride, overnight hotel stay, and flight left for them to chat and John was a bit concerned over what Sherlock's reaction to his previous relationships would be.

As John was mulling around these thoughts, Colin walked into the sitting room with a tray of tea mugs.

"It seems wrong" he said passing a purple and blue mug to John and a rainbow striped mug to Sherlock. 

"Cal was the one who made tea. I keep calling out to him and asking him to make me a cuppa. Then when no one answers I remember and time stops all over again." Colin stopped and looked out the window at the raindrops rolling against the bay window. "We were thinking about kids. We were thinking about grand kids. We were thinking-" Colin broke off, clenching his plain green mug hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Clearing his throat, he continued, "We were thinking we had forever. But now he's gone, and I'm alone again." 

John's heart ached for him. The problem with having a soulmate was that finders-keepers doesn't always work in real life. "I'm sorry, Colin. Cal was such a good friend to me. Always.”

Colin smiled, tear rimmed eyes betraying his misery as he reached out for John's hand.  
"He spoke about you often. How proud he was that you had managed to come out alive from the battle. I heard stories of your time at Hogwarts. And the quidditch stories! They always made him laugh. I...just...Thank you for making him so happy when you were younger.”

John squeezed his hand tightly in response, emotions of his own welling up. "There's nothing I can say that can make it easier. I can just promise that we will find out who did this."

"What time did Cal come home on the thirteenth?" Sherlock asked, breaking into the deep conversation with practiced ease and disregard.

"What?"

Rolling his eyes Sherlock repeated his query.

"Um, around seven. But how does that-"

"Excellent. None of your neighbors murdered him,” Sherlock proclaimed clapping his hands together.

"Sherlock!" John whispered angrily.

"Oh" Sherlock said, swiveling to face John. "Bit not good?"

"Obviously." John replied, turning back to Colin. "Sorry, Colin. Sherlock doesn't always realize that-- Colin? Are you all right?” The man in question had his head down in his hands and was shaking. He lifted his head up and John could see that Colin was crying and laughing simultaneously. 

"It's fine John. I just-" Colin broke off laughing again before getting himself under control.   
"Everyone is tiptoeing around me now. No one realizes that I don't need tact and control. I just want to be treated normally, or as normal as possible under the circumstances. Thank you, Sherlock.” Wiping the tears from his eyes, Colin continued his spiel. "Sherlock reminds me of Cal in many ways. Blunt and honest to a fault. How long have you two been together?"

"Well actually Colin we just—"

John began to reply before he was silenced by Sherlock's hand on his knee. 

"Two years. We've been flat mates for two years, but I've just recently learned that feelings I've been experiencing were mutual. However, had I not been blinded by my prior experiences, I would have noted that killing a man to save someone you've just met is not the normal behavior one exhibits after just meeting a potential flatmate. Had I realized, perhaps we could have been together sooner. It doesn't matter though,” Sherlock continued, turning to look at John. "Because no matter when we met or how we’ve found each other, John Watson saved me. Wholly and absolutely."

John felt his mouth go dry. If he didn't know Sherlock was lying through his teeth to provide a cover, he could believe that the emotion being portrayed was real. He could believe that he had a chance with this amazing man. But no. Sherlock would do anything for a case.

“Ah, John. Your man their really loves you,” said Colin, waving a hand around "Keep him close."

"I...I will,” said John, mouth dry.

 

They talked for a little longer. Sherlock asking Colin question after question. They ranged from awkward to traumatizing, but Colin answered them all with apparent truthfulness. And when Sherlock wrapped up with the wonderful, "Do you have a bow tie fetish?" John knew it was past time to go. 

They said their farewells, offered up more condolences, or John did anyway, while Sherlock bounced in the doorway. 

Then they were off to the train Station to catch a lift back to Dublin.


	5. Better Send an Owl Boys

The wheels of the train clacked rhythmically against the tracks as the night sky flashed past, but John was too keyed up to imagine sleep. Sherlock was sitting there, polished and presentable, and was... staring him down. John Watson, experienced magical and mundane trauma surgeon, crack shot spell caster jumped. Not that he’d admit it but he actually leapt out of his seat.

 

“John?” Sherlock said, eyes narrowing a bit at the jump. “I think it is time for me to hear about your relationship with Cal O’Brien.”

John stiffened and then gave up, releasing a nervous sigh. It would be better to just tell his story and let Sherlock draw his own conclusions. No one said Sherlock needed to know the whole truth about his past relationships.

“I met Cal at school. We started in the same year at Hogwarts, one of three wizarding schools. He was a Slytherin and I was a Gryffindor, which won’t mean much to you, but it did matter back then. We never really got on much, until we both started Quidditch. It was amazing. I had never played against someone with that much passion and I was utterly lost. I made a complete fool of myself of course, we fought all the time. It nearly got us kicked off our teams. After the final warning about it, I walked away and did my best to ignore him.”

John glanced over at Sherlock to see him looking passively back. Deciding to continue as there were no questions forthcoming, John went on.

“Then one day in my third year, I was late for Care of Magical Creatures. I had lost track of time in the library and no one else was around as I was walking down the hill to class. There’s this place where you come around this really large rock and I heard some noises. I figured it was a snogging session so I went round the corner intending to ignore whoever it was and get on to class. I was wrong. I came round the corner to a fight. Two Slytherin boys were on Cal, one holding him down the other kicking and punching. They were swearing at him, calling him a ‘poofter’ and ‘a little irish fairy’. Cal was small, wiry, fast and a damn good seeker for it. But it wasn’t helping him in a physical fight, and since they had knocked the wand out of his hand, well, I got involved. I cursed the one holding Cal, gave him boils that lasted for a week. The other one I knocked out with one punch. I lifted Cal off the ground and took him to the nurse. After that we were friends,” John finished. 

“Wrong.” Sherlock said, quirking his brow. 

“Wrong?” 

“Whatever you are leaving out you ought to tell me. I’d deduce it myself but that tends to make you cranky. I’d like to remind you it is incredibly hard to make proper deductions when I don’t all have proper facts. As I have not had any of these experiences for myself I wish to have full use of the next best thing. You.” 

John knew Sherlock could see the blush on his face at the unfortunate choice of words. He could see the dilation of John’s pupils and rush of breath John sucked in as his mind flickered back to the previous events on the couch. It didn’t matter that Sherlock had meant he would be using John’s memories to deduce what had happened to Cal. What mattered was what John’s hindbrain had thought about it. 

“Fine. Cal and I… dated for several years. We were friends at school, we didn’t get along until after I helped him out of that fight. We were enemies on the Quidditch field, and boyfriends in the dining hall. I..I loved him and he loved me, but it wasn’t ever something that would last. We knew that and when I went to work for the ministry we broke up.” John glanced up at Sherlock, who was staring at him.

“Very well John. Now be quiet.” 

John watched as Sherlock entered his mind palace. He stayed there the rest of the trip, occasionally muttering and waving his hands about. Even the flight was uneventful and when they landed in Heathrow it was left to John to carry the bags and summon a cab.

 

**

While John was trying to figure out what was going on in Sherlock’s head, Sherlock himself was trying to do the same.

John being bisexual was no issue. Sherlock knew he’d be a bit of a hypocrite for judging John for liking men and women, as when he did choose to have a relationship he invariably chose a male companion.

John hiding a huge secret was understandable, especially as the secret wasn’t only his to tell. It was the content of the secret that was an issue. How was Sherlock supposed to solve the case when he knew nothing of the wizarding world. The data gleaned from John on the way to Ireland was not enough. He had to collect more. There had to be a central source that he could be lead to, that contained enough knowledge to push him further into the wizarding world. A library. Hadn’t John mentioned a library at his school? Yes, he certainly had. That solved it. He would have to pay a visit to this.. Hogwarts.

**

When he emerged from his palace, Sherlock looked around to realize they were back inside the flat.

“John?”

Scowling, he got up to search for the missing doctor. There wasn’t many places in the flat that he could be hiding. With a quick peek inside the bedroom, and the bathroom, Sherlock was able to ascertain that John was not inside. Perhaps he had gone down to visit Mrs.Hudson.  
Making his way down the stairs. Sherlock heard voices from Mrs. Hudson’s flat. John was indeed there. Excellent. He stopped to listen at the rise and fall of the alto and tenor voices as they intertwined. The pair were singing in between moments of laughter.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, Teach us something please, Whether we be old and bald, Or young with scabby knees, Our heads could do with filling, With some interesting stuff, For now they're bare and full of air, Dead flies and bits of fluff, So teach us things worth knowing, Bring back what we've forgot, Just do your best, we'll do the rest, And learn until our brains all rot.

 

Interesting. Sherlock filed the moment away for future reference and stepped into the flat.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson. John, I need you to take me to Hogwarts.”

“Never any please with you is there, Sherlock? Honestly,” Mrs. Hudson chastised, shaking her head.

“Why the sudden urge to visit Hogwarts Sherlock?” John asked patting Mrs. Hudson’s hand to show he didn’t mind.

“The library. I need data, John and you cannot provide enough. You’ve said it is a boarding school therefore there should be room for us to stay. I’m going to need at least a weekend to absorb enough data to formulate a few theories on the cause of Cal’s death.” Sherlock began muttering to himself again, something about bow ties and giant snakes.

“Okay, Sherlock” John said, sighing as he rose from the table. “I’ll send an owl to McGonagall, and we can take a portkey to Hogsmeade from Diagon Alley as soon as she responds.”

“Good.” Sherlock spun around on his heel and made to leave. He stopped short and turned around pointing a finger at Mrs. Hudson.

“You.”

“Me, Sherlock? Whatever do you mean?” Mrs.Hudson said grinning into her mug of tea. 

“You knew. You knew all along, about all of-” Sherlock broke off waving his hands around. “This!” he finished loudly.

“Yes dear, I’m a squib.”

Sherlock looked at John, utterly lost and unhappy about it.

John sighed again. “A squib is a person born to magical parents who possesses no magic of their own. Not exactly common, but it still happens. Often, a squib will have other characteristics that make up for the lack of magic, an example being that they are excellent at herbology or have the power of farsight.”

“Very good, John. Now, both of you shoo and go pack. John, you need to send an owl.”  
John led the very confused Sherlock out of the flat and decided that if introducing Sherlock to magic was going to leave him slack jawed and quiet at each new revelation, he’d show him as much as humanly possible.


	6. Sparks

The trip to Diagon Alley was completely and utterly uneventful. Something for which John was completely and utterly thankful. But the second they arrived at the pub blocking the entrance, Sherlock was pestering him.

“John, that man is reading a book by Stephen Hawking.”

“Yeah, that’s just old Mark. Surprised he's rereading that one though, he finished it ages ago.”

“John, he was moving his spoon without touching it.”

“Yes, Sherlock, he’s a very good wizard. One of the top in Research and Development at the Ministry.”

“But John-“

“Nope.” John pulled Sherlock away, leading him out the back door of the building. Pulling his wand out, he tapped on the bricks and the wall began to peel away.

“Sherlock, you need to stay with me the entire time okay? Don’t go running off, don’t want you to run into any hexes. First off, we’re going to go to Ollivander’s, see if….Sherlock?”

Sherlock was standing stock still, hands hanging at his sides, staring as Diagon Alley was revealed. John controlled his urge to laugh.

“It can be a bit much at the beginning,” he said quietly, taking Sherlock’s hand in his own. In for a penny, in for a pound after all. “Come on then.”

As they walked down the street, Sherlock’s eyes darted around them, drinking in the data surrounding him. The pair garnered a few stray glances, but no one questioned them outright. John was a familiar face to many of the shop owners and received happy waves, which he returned, before pulling Sherlock away rather quickly. Better not to have to explain why they were there just yet.

When they made it to Ollivander's, John ducked into the shop, bell ringing above his head. Sherlock remained outside, reading the flyers next to the door.

“John Watson!” A head popped up from beneath the counter, quickly followed by the rest of the girl. She was smiling, red lips quirked at the side, dark hair falling down from a messy bun on her head. Her large black glasses were slipping down her nose, and she nudged them back up with the knuckles of one dusty hand. “I haven’t seen you in ages!” She came around the counter just as another person emerged from the back of the shop. “Olivia, I found some wands in the back. They’re misbehaving, I think we should clean them. Oh. Hello.” They looked up from the papers they held, and blinked big brown eyes at John. “John Watson.”

“Ah, yes hello. Have we met?”

“No, I read your blog.” They smiled and handed the papers over to the dark haired girl. “Is Sherlock Holmes with you?”

“He’s outside actually, that’s why I’m here. Figured it was time. We’re on a case, and I was hoping Garrick was in. You read my blog?”

“Religiously. Should I go fetch Garrick then?”

Olivia nodded and hopped up on the counter as the other shop worker moved away, slipping through a hidden doorway. “That was Ell. They work here in the summer, but are still attending Hogwarts. Bit quiet that one, muggle born,” she whispered.

“They seem nice,” John replied, leaning on the wand counter. “How’re the studies coming along?”

“Great. Just finished a gorgeous wand, Holly and Veela hair, seven inches.”

“I’m sure your grandfather is proud.” John replied, turning to look out the window where Sherlock was hovering, analyzing the contents of the shop across the street.

“Granddad is pleased, but says I can still do better.”

“And he’s right too,” came a shaky voice from their left. John looked over and grinned as Ollivander came forward, Ell supporting him with a hand on his elbow. Despite the long white hair and wrinkles, the old man was sporting a massive smile on his face and had a bounce in his step.

“Hello, Garrick.”

“John, my boy. Been well? How’s the wand?”

“Just as good as the day I got it. I’ll come in for a cleaning and a tune up soon yeah?”

“Certainly. But if you are having no problems, then why are you here? I hardly think it’s for nothing but a chat.”

“There’s probably been a murder,” Ell said, from where they were perched on a stool, sorting empty wand boxes.

Olivia looked back to John, eyes widening. “What? John?”

“We’re here investigating. The victim….he was one of us. Cal O’Brien. Pet breeder from Dublin. We were at Hogwarts together.”

Ell and Olivia murmured platitudes while Ollivander leaned on the counter. “John, I’m terribly sorry.”

John took a shaky breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine. We were just…close once upon a time. I’m here with Sherlock, trying to find information. I decided to stop by, Sherlock’s never been, and I figured you’d know about Cal’s wand. It wasn’t with him when his body was found.”

Garrick nodded. “Willow,” he said, “supple and thin, 6 inches. Dragon heartstring for the core. I can draw up a picture. As I recall, it had a rather odd mark on the side, a defect in the wood. I was planning on disposing of it, but the wand chose Cal. They worked well together. Why don’t you call in your friend, and I’ll tell him about the wand making process.”

John nodded and turned around to fetch Sherlock, just as the man pushed the door to the shop open.

“John, I—“

And then, everything went mad. Ell and Oliva squeaked and dived for the floor as wands shot from their boxes, golden sparks jetting in the air. John joined them as a particularly large oak wand flew past his head. Sherlock dodged a dogwood and slipped on a wand that had fallen to the ground. His hands flew up and he fell down, narrowly avoiding landing on John.

“Enough!” Ollivander raised his hands, voice roaring. The wands all froze, falling to the ground with a clatter. One thin red wand continued to shoot green sparks, and Ollivander fixed it with an angry look. With a final wheeze, the wand stilled and the shop was silent.  
The people on the floor looked up to where he stood at the counter, eyes blazing and got up carefully.

“What was that?” Olivia asked as Ell went and stamped out a small fire that had started in the corner of the shop.

“That,” Ollivander replied, lowering his hands, “was the wands reacting to latent magic.”

The shop workers gasped, looking at Sherlock as John shook his head. “No. Please tell me you don’t mean what I think you do.”

Sherlock raised a brow, staring at him curiously. “John? What’s going on?”

At the sound of his voice, a strange rattle came from atop the highest shelf. Ollivander looked up to the source of the noise and gave a soft ‘hm’. He waved his own wand, and a box flew down, dusty and banged up. It was trembling as if something was attempting to escape. As Olivia and Ell watched, Ollivander pried the dented lid open, yanking hard. A wand flew out, and zoomed over to Sherlock, who raised a hand to catch it automatically. A gust of wind burst through the shop, slamming the door open, tearing the bell from it’s hanger. Papers flew up from the counter and whizzed through the air. Sherlock yelped and dropped the wand as it began to shake and glow, eyes wide. He turned to John, only to see the other man staring back at him, a look of amazement on his face.

“Willow with dragon heartstring,” Ollivander said quietly, looking at the box. “This wand has never chosen an own, and never reacted to anyone before. We thought it was defective,” Ollivander said, fixing Sherlock with a steady eye. Sherlock blinked and turned to John, who let out a shaky breath as all the eyes in the shop turned to him instead. 

Ollivander nodded in interest, beckoning them to follow as he slipped through the doorway. Ell silently closed the shop door, turning the sign to closed as Sherlock warily leaned down to pick up his wand, now still and silent. The crew moved, no one speaking as they filed into the back of Ollivander’s shop.


	7. A Return to Basics

“Lumos. Lumos.” Sherlock scowled at the wand in his hand. “John, it’s not working.”

John sighed, looking at him. “Stop shaking it. Ask nicely.” 

“Ask nicely? It’s a bloody piece of wood.”

“It’s not,” John replied, just as the wand shot out angry red sparks. “See?”

“Then why won’t it light up?”

John sighed again, and got up, covering Sherlock’s hand with his own, pointing the wand up in the air. “Like this. Lumos,” he murmured softly, drawing a loop. 

The wand started to glow, and John took his hand away. “Now you try extinguishing it.” 

Sherlock looked at him and frowned. “Nox.”

The wand light slowly dimmed and Sherlock smiled. “John it worked.”

John smiled himself at the look of wonder on Sherlock’s face as the other man tried the charm again, succeeding. “Good, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked at his wand. “Why do we need them?

“Need what?”

“The wands. They’re only to focus our magic, correct?”

“Yeah, but you won’t be able to do wand-less magic right away. Some people are never able to,” John said. 

“But I can.”

“You can try,” John said, closing his computer and setting it aside, feeling as though this would be a very long conversation. Ever since they’d traveled to Diagon Alley, since they’d managed to show up at Hogwarts, Sherlock had been asking questions. If not of John, then from the throngs of school children peeking at him in the library, wondering just what the detective they’d heard about was doing at Hogwarts, and the equally interested professors.

It was equal parts endearing and annoying, especially because Sherlock was built to question and dissect, something he was insisting on doing at all hours of the night, including popping into John’s bedroom at two in the morning to ask about the difference between wand types. 

John had rolled over, groaned, and told him to send an owl to Ollivander. Apparently, Sherlock had, and John got a rather confused letter back at six the next morning.

“Well, why do I need to speak?”

“You don’t. There are non-verbal spells,” John replied. “A nonverbal spell is a spell performed without saying the incantation out loud.”

“Your adversary would have no idea you are coming, and no warning about what kind of magic you are about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage.”

John nodded. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“Are they legal in duels?”

“Ah…I think so. I’ve never had to duel,” John replied with a shrug.

“Really? I’d have thought you would with the wars.”

“There’s a bit of a difference between dueling and fighting,” John replied. “And when you’re fighting for your life against dark wizards, you use whatever means necessary.” 

“Including the unforgivable curses?”

John shook his head. “No. Not those. Not unless there was no choice.” 

“But you would, if needed.”

“Enough, Sherlock. Practice your charms,” John snapped, standing up and going in the kitchen. 

“How does one go about learning non-verbal spells though?”

“Concentration and mental discipline! Something you don’t have!”

John wouldn’t admit it, but he was rather pleased about the fact that Sherlock sulked for the rest of the evening, leaving John to his blog and tea. 

**  
“And how is that going?”

“About as well as you’d think,” John replied. “He’s learning fast. Already caught up to where a Hogwarts second year would be, read all the books.” Mrs. Hudson set a plate of scones down in front of him and he picked one up. “Thanks.”

“Just this once. Not your housekeeper.” 

John smiled. “Course not. How’s your sister? Still traveling with the Veela?”

“Oh yes, she’s somewhere in France at the moment, really enjoying herself. What does Minerva have to say about all this?”

“The normal amount,” John said. “Nothing much, but she’s been helpful. Sent some books by Owl, Sherlock’s up there now reading on them. He’s trying to learn wandless magic and non verbals at the same time as he’s learning actual magic, so we’ll see how it works.” 

There was a sudden blast from upstairs, and they both winced. “Right, gotta go, thanks for the tea,” John said, hurrying up the stairs as Mrs. Hudson nodded. “Sherlock!”

“I’m fine John. It was a simple incendio spell, I just managed to use the engorgio gesture in attempt to see what would happen,” Sherlock said, turning to him with one curl smoking. 

John pulled his wand out and waved it. “Augamenti.” A small strand of water flowed out, dousing the singed bits of parchment and Sherlock’s hair as the taller man scowled. “Would you please try not to burn down the whole flat next time?”

“There was minimal flame,” Sherlock scowled, shaking the water from his hair. “Honestly.”

“Honestly. I’m fond of this place,” John replied, tucking his wand away and heading to the kitchen. “Hungry?” 

“No. I’ve nearly mastered non-verbals spells,” Sherlock said, following him into the kitchen.

“That’s nice, Sherlock. Pasta or potato?”

“And I’m not that far behind in wandless magic.” 

John sighed. “Sherlock, I believe you all right? But you don’t need to prove anything to me, and you don’t need to show off. I’m not going to get upset or laugh if you can’t do something. I’ll try and teach you.”

“I’m not showing off, I’m simply learning.”

“Right. Learning. Have you finished the next set of books that McGonagall sent over?” 

‘Yes. And I’ve learned about the Ascendio spell and its counterparts tonight, so I’d like it if you let me levitate you later.”

John sighed, eyes going skyward. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “If you eat dinner and go deal with all those papers.” 

“Excellent. And pasta. Aguamenti,” Sherlock said, filling a pot on the stove with water. 

“Smart arse,” John said, chuckling as the detective flounced out, wand tucked away in his sleeve. “You know, I’m going to take you to get some robes soon,” he called.

“Robes?” came the interested reply. “I’ve read about those. You can get fireproof material.” 

“Yeah, that’s probably the kind you’ll get,” John snarked. “Seeing as how you seem to set fire to nearly everything, including yourself.

Sherlock stepped back in, glaring at him. “No, I don’t.”

“The ash filling our living room begs to differ,” John said, turning and glaring himself.

Coming closer, Sherlock narrowed his eyes, invading John’s personal space and looming over him. “No.”

“Yes.” John pushed back, crossing his arms.

“You’re attracted to me.”

“Wait, what?” John blinked, stepping back quickly.

“You’re attracted to me.”

“No, I’m not.” 

“The posts on your blog beg to differ. As does the dilation of your pupils and the pounding of your heart.” 

“Sherlock, since there’s nothing that I’m going to say that’ll change your mind, I’m dropping this conversation,” John said, turning back to the counter and opening a box of noodles. “Why d’you always have to be so bloody smart all the time?”

“Because I’m correct,” Sherlock said, sounding hurt, and turned on his heel, escaping the kitchen. 

“Fuck,” John said, hearing the flat door slam. He slammed the box down and turned off the stove. “Sherlock!”

**Author's Note:**

> And as always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


End file.
